No complain, no gain: Tales from readers

`My friends also call me the Complaint King," wrote Robb S. of Chicago after last week's column about a guy who's expert at scoring goodies as redress for his consumer woes.

He was one of many readers who responded with their own complaint tales and tips. Here are just a few, slightly edited.

"Some of my favorite victories," he went on, "were:

"The [bath-and-body-store] clerks I overheard that whispered that they hated all the `fags' that come into their store. I was the only customer, so it was definitely me they were referring to. I made certain to read their little nametags, find their regional supervisor online, and I received a $100 gift certificate for the humiliation.

"Number two, the girl at a downtown [fast food restaurant] who, right in the middle of my order stated, `I gotta pee' and just walked away from the register. I ate a LOT free for the next year."

Chuck H. of Chicago sent a Lily Tomlin quote: "I am thoroughly convinced that language evolved out of man's basic need to complain."

I would say all languages but French--which evolved out of man's need to find a more romantic way to say, "I gotta pee."

"As a former employee of a customer service call center," wrote Elliot of Chicago, "I took about 80 calls a day, which made my throat sore and my ear sorer. My advice for calling customer service: 1. Don't be a jerk. 2. Speaking with a supervisor is possible. 3. If the person has been truly helpful (and it does happen), let them know. It will make their day."

Bill M. of Chicago, whose "friendly-but-firm" complaints have netted store credits, refunds and an air conditioner, added this tip: "Documentation!"

Documentation may be notes of phone calls, photos of an offending item--or Charles B.'s unlikely ammunition.

"While driving to work one very snowy day, I was stopped and ticketed for running a red light," he wrote. "Choosing to appear in court to appeal, I showed the judge a copy of the Tribune showing what a horrible driving day it had been. She dismissed my case."

And who says the paper's not worth 50 cents?

"Some years ago," wrote Glenn M., "I was invited to purchase a six-pack of Canadian Ace beer by a very sexy lady manning an in-store display. At home, I decided to have a can. These were among the first flip-top cans and I cut my finger on a sharp edge. I put on a Band-Aid, drank the beer and decided to write a letter to the company. I did, enclosing the paper wrapping of the Band-Aid.

"A few days later, a small truck delivered two cases of beer from Canadian Ace along with their apologies. I took one case over to my brother's house. We weren't surprised to find that the cans didn't have a tab-top, but we certainly were distressed not to be able to find a beer can opener. We ended up cutting the top off the can with a can opener. Moral: Don't wish too hard--you might get what you wish for."

A Band-Aid wrapper? That's documentation.

And from Jeanne W. of Evanston: "I am a mostly ineffectual yet heedless complainer. Last summer, I did bargain $170 off the price of radiator-valve repairs after the workman stepped into a large, fresh pile of dog poop and duly tracked it all over my rugs. Encouraged by this success, I brought renewed vigor to my next complaint.

"When our old refrigerator died, we ordered a new one online. Between the GE people and the Home Depot people, our order got lost in cyberspace and the refrigerator never came.

"After a good round of back-and-forth on the phone, I was finally put in touch with a sympathetic Home Depot rep and told her about the hardship of having three children to feed and no fresh milk in the house.

"`I know just how you feel, honey,' she replied in soft southern tones. `I'm here at the headquarters, in Baton Rouge, and I still haven't got my electricity back after Katrina hit.' Needless to say, that shut me up."